When the police caught me they all inevitably said something to the effect of, “Have to say we are pretty surprised and disappointed given that you’re Sonny’s son”. Disappointed. Sonny is what everyone called my dad.
His real name was Charles Brint James. And while hard to believe, Brint was the name given to me by my natural mother when she gave me up for adoption. Br”i”nt. That was one reason they adopted me. The other was that my dad was also adopted into a family of 4 older girls and I have 4 older sisters. It was meant to be. But everyone called him Sonny and my dad new EVERYONE. He worked 4 jobs at one point. He was a mechanic for a while so I think that’s how he got to know so many people. It was a small town. One day he is really proud of his son because of sports stuff and the next day he’s looking for ways to cover up what happened.
The night I got caught, I overheard him talking to my mom saying he should contact Uncle Billy to get things “fixed”. Uncle Billy was a detective in the police department. My mom was adamant against that though. She didn’t want anyone to know.
In an instant life went from people that were proud of me to people that were disappointed in me. It was hidden as much as possible. A source of pride to nearly prison wasn’t that much of a stretch. I haven’t fully figured out why but disappointing people carries with it a certain darkness that is cave-like. Then with my heart issues I felt like a disappointment. A burden. And so, I have to be the opposite of that.
It’s half the reason I strive. To be the best at whatever I do. So that I’m no longer a burden. But the pressure that carries with it is too much. For anyone. Accumulated over years.
What I wonder…is it possible that God can’t actually be disappointed in me? Don’t answer that.
Brint's Blog 